Little Things
by xklaine
Summary: It's nice to know that there is something in life that stays constant even though I never am. At midnight, I will be forcibly dragged out of Dylan's body and into another. The switch hurts like I would imagine it physically to. I've tried staying awake and willing it away when I was younger. But every new day, I still find myself in another boy's body...
1. Chapter 1

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Klaine

Kurt: "_It's nice to know that there is something in life that stays constant even though I never am. At midnight, I will be forcibly dragged out of Dylan's body and into another. The switch hurts like I would imagine it physically to. I've tried staying awake and willing it away when I was younger. But every new day, I still find myself in another boy's body..."_

_Based on David Levithan's Every Day__._

* * *

**I stared at this screen for a good 30 minutes and no words, I repeat, no words are coming to mind as to what I'm supposed to write for a pre-story note. This is kinda ridiculous.**

**I'll just give several warnings: there will be angst, there will be sex, there will be disgustingly sweet moments. Just... not in this chapter yet? The chapters as to where they appear might vary but I'll give you a heads-up if there's a particularly, uh, intense chapter.**

**This story is set in the world of David Levithan's Every Day. If you haven't read it already, add it to your reading list immediately. For those of you who are reading this because you love that book, I sincerely hope I don't disappoint. It is slightly altered so that my story flows.**

**My protagonist is Kurt and will always be Kurt unless otherwise stated. ****It might seem more of Kurt's story in the beginning**, but I promise, Klaine will prevail. **It might get slightly confusing at times, but I hope you'll stick till the end.**

**Special thanks to itsy, my first reader, beta and reviewer, and also my long-lost twin.**

**(AHA, I ended up writing quite a bit heh heh)**

**Enjoy (:**

* * *

Day 6337: _Because your eyes shine like stars in the night sky._

* * *

_0559 hours._

The constant ticking of the clock is unusually calming.

My eyes are still closed but I know exactly when the alarm will go off. And I dread it. This is why, for the first time in his life, Dylan Tom Robinson clamps down a hand on his alarm just the second before it rings.

I crawl out of bed reluctantly and slouch into the adjoining bathroom. The path leading to it is littered with soiled clothes and clean clothes mixed in unsanitary piles. As far as I try not to judge, some people just make me want to take them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them. Of course, that would mean shaking myself today.

Dylan is a troubled young fellow, I decide. His mind is full of images of girls, girls and… some boys. Images that push their way through the barrier I set between his mind and mine to resurface in my consciousness. Images that are so personal they make me want to cover my eyes to stop seeing them. There was Jean, Stacy, Lily, Heather and Marilyn, all of whom he had been intimate with in the previous month. Oh, and Hector, Heather's gay twin who he had experimented with just three weeks ago. Right the night after his sister had moaned her love atop Dylan.

I guess it makes sense. He _is_ good-looking. If I am to be explicitly honest, he's the kind of guy who's so unnecessarily handsome that people can't differentiate between love and lust for him. Judging by the amount of mirrors he has in his bathroom, he probably knows it, too. But even with his mind full of those obscene images, they are simply distractions from the one person he truly desires. Who he really wants, he daren't hope for. I might just feel a bit of pity for him.

A good half-hour later, I walk out of the bath, still steaming from the hot shower with a towel wrapped around my waist, the way Dylan does it every day. He thinks it turns girls on. I wear it out of habit. _His_ habit. I pull on some clothes and grab his schoolbag and car keys before heading downstairs. The walk down the stairs is both familiar and unfamiliar. Just like it has been every day of my life.

"Mom! I'm leaving!" I call out.

She shouts back a reply. But I am already out of the door. I don't need to hear it to know what she said. She had been saying the same thing since forever: _Take care, sweetie. I love you._

I just know it. Dylan Robinson is one lucky dude.

* * *

_0723 hours._

I have always loved rainy days. The damp, musky smell of water, the soft pattering of falling rain on the pavements and windows, the lightning and thunder and storms and flurry of umbrellas - I love it all. I watch dreamily as a raindrop slides down the windowpane, leaving a wet trail in its wake. A bell tinkles somewhere behind me as the doors swing open, letting in a whiff of cold, wet air.

"Hi, can I have a medium drip? And one of those cookies, please."

The barista mumbles something too soft to be heard. That's weird. Rachel is usually loud, boisterous and cheerful. Mostly just loud, though. She has never, ever, recognised me although I have frequented the counter every day for the past four months, ordering the same drink and sitting in the exact same seat. Except in a different body, of course. Well, if she had, she has never said anything or made any indications before.

A moment later, I find my thoughts taken over by the whirring and sputtering of the coffee-maker, followed by the sweet aroma of freshly-brewed coffee. Absently, I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, my lips are turned upwards into a relaxed smile. Coffee always has that calming effect on me. When I open them again, I find myself staring into a pair of the most gorgeous honey-coloured eyes I have ever seen. And they are staring right back into mine.

I feel my breath catch. This has never happened before. But strange as it is, I find it ever more puzzling how I cannot seem to avert my gaze from this handsome stranger. Then again, he doesn't turn away either. So there we sit, quietly: two strangers, two cups of cold, forgotten coffee and an unexplainable feeling that rises up my chest, making my heart pound.

I wonder what that was all about.

* * *

_0841 hours._

I am barely out of the car when a redheaded bomb hurls herself at me, her breasts pressing against my arm as she clings to my side. Stacy isn't wearing a bra and her pebbled nipples are brushing against my arm, making my hair stand on its ends. Images of her, stark-naked, float into my mind immediately and I feel a surge of annoyance towards Dylan.

"Hello, hun." Stacy says seductively, or rather, I _think_ she is trying to say it seductively. It sounds so much like the third-rate porn that John, a past host, had been getting off to that I feel a laugh coming on. I stifle it.

"Hey, Stace."

But she's already pulling me towards a quiet side of the school and fitting her lips onto my neck. Dylan is so accustomed to her whims that his body automatically responds, pushing a leg between hers and pinning her against the wall. She moans approvingly.

It is useless fighting Dylan's subconscious, especially when his urges are so strong. I control the mind. In fact, in each of my hosts' bodies, I _am_ the mind. At least for 24 hours. But the mind is, after all, only but a part of the body. I close my eyes in defeat after a few moments of struggling.

As he kisses her, Dylan's mind automatically envisions a pair of green eyes. They look at him longingly, lovingly, as though looking at him was such a sad, sad thing. My jeans get impossibly tighter. When a soft hand palms the hardness, I groan aloud.

"You like that?" Stacy whispers hotly into my ear.

I snap out of it.

In the seconds that follow, I am deeply ashamed of myself. Stacy has now fallen over onto the ground, her entire attire in varying states of a dishevelled mess. She glares at me and I quickly move to help her up.

"What the hell, Dylan?" she demands.

"I'm really sorry," I say, really meaning it. "Let's break up, Stace."

* * *

_1154 hours._

"Hey, D!" Ethan shouts across the crowded hallway. "Wait up! Wait for me!"

I spin around to see Dylan's best friend charge towards me, parting the herds of students in that brash manner of his. My lips twitch involuntarily. He is as clumsy as always.

"You're in a good mood," he pants, struggling to get his books in order. I offer my arms as help and he gratefully releases the heavy stack onto them. "What's up?"

"I finally did it," I said.

"Did what?" Ethan holds out his bag for me to dump the books into. I gladly oblige, unceremoniously stuffing them in.

"You know... _Stacy_."

"I thought that was last Christmas."

I roll my eyes and laugh. "Not _that_ that. _That_." I make a slight tilt of my head towards a weeping Stacy and her group of girlfriends. They are glaring at me with furious glances, whispering in a huddle like they always do. Ethan blinks and it is the prettiest thing I have ever seen.

"Oh—_oh_! Seriously?" his face lights up in realisation. He starts laughing as well. "But she's hot."

"So am I."

Ethan punches me on the arm. I punch him back. We're both grinning like idiots.

"So what are your plans now?" he asks, pulling the bag over his shoulder. The weight must be killing him. "Is Dylan Robinson going to fly solo for the first time since he could talk?"

"Nah," I nudge his shoulder with mine teasingly. "He's taking his bro out for dinner tonight because he's _soooo_ in love with him." He laughs along with me, but the blush on his face is unmistakable.

Without realising it, we've reached my Chemistry classroom. I grin at Ethan. "So, boys' night out?"

"Yeah," he grins back at me, fingers picking nervously at the straps of his bag. "We're going to the best restaurant in town! Wear a suit and a tie. Pick me up at six. I'll be waiting, _darling_!"

He waves as he walks away, his legs seemingly not quite working the way he wants them to. I am still laughing long after he leaves, carried away by the feeling of euphoria in Dylan's subconscious.

* * *

_2032 hours._

I take a walk with Ethan after dinner at an Italian restaurant. He made a valiant attempt of ordering the least expensive dish on the menu, but Dylan knew his best friend well enough. I ended up ordering for him, disregarding his weak protests. It is now dark out and we walk aimlessly, talking about anything and everything, really. Something is different tonight, and Ethan knows it.

Finally, I relent and allow Dylan his control. He is aware of his time-limit, and he plans to make full use of it. His hands tremble in anticipation. They ache to reach over and touch Ethan, to pull him into his arms and kiss him hard on the mouth. But he doesn't. I honestly admire his self-control around Ethan.

"So what about the rest of the girls you were dating?" Ethan is asking, his hands scuttling everywhere: his bag, his pockets, his hair. Dylan is trying not to hit himself for wanting to take them in his and intertwine their fingers.

"I broke up with them," he says simply. "All of them."

"W-what? You broke up with all of them? But why? Is there someone else? You must be serious about this new… girl."

Dylan laughs softly, the laugh quickly turning into a sigh. "I don't even know if it's worth it or not. I mean, what if I had made all this up in my head? What if this person doesn't even like me?"

"Don't be silly. Who in the world doesn't like Mr Dreamy-Pants?" Ethan scoffs. "Don't worry. She'll fall for you in a second. She'll be an idiot not to."

A long pause.

"Would you?" Dylan summons up all his courage to ask. "Would you fall for me?"

He grins as he says it, as if in jest. But we both know that his palms are sweating and his heart is thumping as he waits for Ethan to reply. Ethan stares at him, lost for words. His ice-green eyes have never looked more beautiful to Dylan. He opens his mouth but no words are said.

With shaking hands, Dylan cups his best friend's face gently and brings his lips down on Ethan's. That draws a surprised gasp from Ethan and a sharp intake of breath on his own part. This is the kiss he has always dreamt of.

Ethan gives into the kiss with a hungered longing. He wraps his arms around Dylan's neck and presses harder against his best friend. His heart is shuddering in his chest and his legs are giving way from the impossibility of it all. When they finally pull away, Dylan doesn't let go of him. They are still in an embrace too close for friends to be in. His hands are around Ethan's slender waist, tracing the skin under his shirt very slightly. Ethan shivers involuntarily, whacking his friend's arm with a shy grin, his ears flushed red.

They both laugh, happily, giddily, not letting go for a long, long while. And suddenly I realise, some replies are redundant.

* * *

_2312 hours._

There is the clock again: ticking, ticking, ticking.

It's nice to know that there is something in life that stays constant even though I never am. At midnight, I will be forcibly dragged out of Dylan's body and into another. The switch hurts like I would imagine it physically to. I've tried staying awake and willing it away when I was younger. But every new day, I still find myself in another boy's body.

I thrash around listlessly on the bed, hoping that sleep will come before the clock strikes twelve. I am completely able to empathise with Cinderella. Taking a deep breath, I concentrate on the rush of joy I felt when Dylan and Ethan kissed and the dissatisfied complains in my head shimmer to a stop. I achieved something great today. I should be happy.

For the next twenty minutes, I force myself to sleep.

Just before I fall asleep, Dylan pokes into my consciousness just long enough to say: _Thank you. Good luck to you, too._

I know I will never wake up as Dylan Tom Robinson again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating:** T

**Pairing:** Klaine

Kurt: "_It's nice to know that there is something in life that stays constant even though I never am. At midnight, I will be forcibly dragged out of Dylan's body and into another. The switch hurts like I would imagine it physically to. I've tried staying awake and willing it away when I was younger. But every new day, I still find myself in another boy's body..."_

_Based on David Levithan's Every Day__._

* * *

**I would like to say that I do not base my characters on living people and all that because that's what most movies/books love to say about their characters but that would be lying and I don't want to lie. Warnings: angst.**

**All the love to itsy for taking time out to check for the dumb errors I make!**

* * *

_Day 6342: Because your smile warms me from the top of my head right down to the tip of my toes._

* * *

_0725 hours._

There he is.

There he is again.

Okay, tell me, who returns to the same café four days in a row to sit in the same seat and drink the same drink? _Excluding _me, I mean. But I'm an exception. At least I don't return every day in the same body. Everyone needs a little variation from time to time and my variations are just... a little more extreme.

My honey-eyed stranger is using a velvet handkerchief to dab gently at the corners of his mouth when I look up from the little dent on the table I had been staring at. The white and blue cloth has an embroidered "B" on it. I might have let my mind linger for a bit on what that letter might represent.

Today, his normally perfectly-gelled hair has far less product, his tie is slightly loosened, and his hazel eyes rest under a frustrated brow as he fumbles with the lid of his coffee in the most adorable fashion. When the loose curls fall into his eyes, he brushes them away irritably, absorbed in a war of sorts. Only after _multiple_ tries (in which I am really, really amused by), he finally manages to get the cover off. Then there is the addition of what is, in my opinion, far too many shakes of chocolate powder to his coffee. He takes a tentative sip, then lets out a satisfied smile.

I choke on my coffee, coughing and sputtering as the liquid goes down the wrong pipe in my body. Just what the hell was _that_?

* * *

_0913 hours._

Matthew walks down the pavement, footsteps sounding softly on the ground. He has both hands tucked in his jean pockets and a thick, warm scarf wrapped around his neck. Around the corner, two giggling teenage girls are staring him down, talking in high-pitched squeaky noises which make my skin crawl. I stare at them uncomfortably, but Matt seems at ease with himself, if not completely clueless.

It is old news now, for William Jones to experience a fluttering sensation somewhere in his stomach whenever Matt is nearby, but he is not allowed to freak out, no matter who stands in front of him. That is what his dad had always taught him. So I watch Matt's approach from the corner of my eye, keeping up William's cool facade. He's dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, but he might as well have stepped out of the front page of a magazine. William's subconscious seems a little disgruntled about that.

Except for a quick exchange of curt nods, neither of us gives any sign of greeting or recognition. I drag myself away from the comfortable slouch against the wall and begin walking. He follows, falling right into step with me as we had thousands of times before.

* * *

_1238 hours._

It is a windy afternoon. I drag my feet along the sidewalk, kicking little pebbles along the way. Neither of us is talking. The fallen leaves are doing a jiggly sort of dance in the wind before our eyes as we let silence preach its sermon. He sighs for the umpteenth time since we began walking.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" I repeat, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes," he replies curtly. "I'm sure."

Our conversation lapses into the gentle rustling of leaves and constant howling of the wind once more. We settle onto a park bench, lost in separate worlds. I can feel the heat radiating from his body just inches away from my side, and William wishes with all his heart there was something he could do to will his best friend back from the world he's lost in.

"I'm sorry," Matt says, so suddenly that I start, momentarily panicking that I had voiced my thoughts aloud. My heart is jumping excitedly at the closeness of his breath, from his face just a little way from my own.

"Don't be," I tell him, willing my overexcited heart to stop pulsing erratically. "We all have our days."

"I'm just so in love with her, you know?"

I nod dumbly. I don't, but I don't know what else to say.

He sighs again. "We should get going. You shouldn't be wasting a Saturday watching me mope around."

"It's fine," I shrug carelessly. "I have nothing better to do anyway."

"No," he gets up and begins walking. "You have a thousand and one things to do. Don't try to tell me otherwise, Will. I know you."

I get up reluctantly and trail after him. The walk to the bus station is completely quiet. It's as if the birds are mourning the part of William's heart that dies a bit more each time Matt says he loves her. We parted ways as usual. Me, walking quickly up the bus to grab William's favourite window seat. Him, waving from afar with a grin. Today, that grin is strained. I smile back at him.

But Matt doesn't know that the smile stops as soon as I turn away from him. He doesn't know that the bus ride home is always a blur of tears. He doesn't know that the world always sways whenever he's around. He doesn't know William at all.

* * *

_1436 hours._

The sky is so blue, the sun so bright, the clouds so white. Cars rush by, eager to reach their destination. People walk by, laughing and chattering away in faraway voices. The walk home is so cheerful; it feels as though they're mocking me.

Pulling away from William's troubled heart and subconscious, I find myself in a daze. Before I even realise what I'm doing, I have a cup of coffee in my hands. The café is buzzing with customers, and there are no kids from my school. It's perfect. I take a window seat, tapping my fingers with no apparent rhythm on the table while I sip my coffee.

"Hi, may I sit here?" a familiar voice asks.

I look up to see Rachel Berry sitting herself at my table. I raise an eyebrow, and hope my surprise isn't clear. "Why ask when you've already reached a decision?" is what I say although my insides are squirming. I meant my words to be hostile, but her smile widens. She's _weird_.

"I'm Rachel Berry," she stretches a hand across the table. I take it hesitantly, and regret my decision almost immediately. Rachel is anything but unenthusiastic. "I work at the Bon Café. You were there this morning."

"William," I reply instinctively, flexing my right hand under the table. "I know—" I say before cursing myself with all the swear words I can think of in a flash. "Is there something I could do for you?"

Rachel doesn't seem to notice my lapse in composure. She just holds up that perpetual beam. It's beginning to be a little creepy. "It's nothing, really," she takes a sip of her drink. On her cup, her name written in cursive and a gold star sticker stuck at the end. It is just so _Rachel_. I can only imagine the barista's exasperation. "I happened to notice that you were staring at the really cute guy in at Bon Café this morning and I wondered if—"

"—if I'm gay?" I raise an eyebrow. "My sexuality is none of your concern."

She rolls her eyes, "Come on, I have gay _dads_. I don't care if you're lesbian."

The corners of my mouth twitch involuntarily and I have to bite my lip to keep from smiling.

"He's here!" she ducks her head suddenly, whispering loudly. "Look over there!" she jerks her chin towards the counter where he stands, waiting patiently in the queue. He's in a different outfit from this morning: a blue blazer with red piping and a huge 'D' emblazoned on it. I should have known; he's a prep school kid.

"There he is," I hear myself say, "Dreamy as ever."—Rachel makes an agreeing sigh—"Wait, do you stalk him or something?" I stare pointedly at Rachel.

"I prefer the term 'actively persistent', if you don't mind," she says in a huff.

"Rachel—" I start, before an unusual sensation creeps over me. It feels… _familiar_. I haven't quite placed my finger on what's going on before she's tugging at my sleeve impatiently, "So do you want to find out or not?"

"Find out what?" I ask blankly.

"Whether he's gay or straight!" she hisses, rolling her eyes. "If he's straight, I call dibs!"

"And how exactly are you going to find out?" I ask, but Rachel is already flinging her hair over her shoulder and sashaying towards my honey-eyed stranger. I feel my jaw drop. "Oh my—"

"Hey," she smiles up at him.

"Hey, Rachel!" my stranger grins in return. "I didn't think I'll meet you here—"

His words are cut off as she presses her lips against his, kissing him. My time freezes for the longest moment before they break the kiss. I'm pretty sure William's jaw is permanently dislocated somewhere on the floor. A brief scan of my surroundings confirms that I'm not the only one guilty of staring. A handsome boy, a pretty girl; they _are_ a good match.

"Huh," he says, his eyes never leaving her face. Rachel looks expectantly at him and my stomach is slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean before he speaks again.

"Yep," the boy nods, his face slowly pulling into a wide grin. "Yep, I'm gay. Thanks so much for clearing that up, Rachel!" he smiles at her again, "Hey, do you mind holding my queue for me? I need to go to the bathroom," he pats her on the shoulder as thanks before leaving her and small audience in the café gaping after him.

I know I shouldn't, but I really can't stop laughing.

* * *

_1945 hours._

**[Incoming phone call]**

"Hey, Matt," I say.

_Silence._

"Matt?"

_Silence._

"Uh… Matt?" I try again. "Hey, dude. Are you there?"

Then, a sob. It is the smallest of whimpers, and the most heart-breaking sound William has ever heard.

"Are you at home?"

"No," he whispers softly, his barely audible voice cracking at the end.

"I'll be there in five."

* * *

_2001 hours._

Two boys sit on swings; one crying aloud, the other crying within. The whoosh of wind feels dead to William's ears. The cool metal chains under his fingertips burn. The crickets are having sing-off. His hour has begun.

"She's not worth it."

Matt shakes his head in reply, "She is."

"She cheated on you, Matt!" Will tries to control his temper. "She fucking cheated on you with three other guys! You did so much for her in the name of love and look where it got you? She dumped you! That fucking_ slut_!"

"Don't call her that," Matt says quietly.

"And pray, tell me why not?" he demands, his tone challenging a fight. "Which disgusting being has a boyfriend and still sleeps around like a fucking slut? _Kristina Phelps_, that's who."

"I said," Matt has a hard look in his eyes, his teeth gritted, "don't call her that."

"That slut has gotte—" Matt's fist strikes William's face before he could complete his words. The boy falls over onto the ground, cradling his bloody jaw in pain. I feel nothing, but if I was in control, I would have winced.

"Oh, fuck," Matt panics, kneeling onto the floor to pry away William's hand from his mouth, "Fuck… Fuck, dude. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to"—William barks out a gurgled snort—"punch you. Are you okay?"

"Just get off me," William pushes his hands away, spitting out blood onto the grass. The metallic taste of blood and corresponding vertigo makes him feel like doubling over to hurl. There are angry tears falling from the tip of his eyelashes, "Stop calling me over this kind of bullshit. You don't even care to listen about what the whole world tells you once it's something bad about that _woman_ of yours. So why did you even call me in the first place, then? For comfort? For someone to tell you, _oh she's not actually that bad_. _She still loves you_? Did you really think I'll sit by you and let you mope around and eventually go back to her to get more chopped up? To come here just to be your fucking punching bag? Just what the fuck do you think I am?"

Matt just stares, wide-eyed and completely shocked by his friend's outburst, "I…" he trails off, unable to keep up a sentence.

William cuts him off. "It's like we're not even friends anymore! All you care is her, her, her! Do you even care about the rest of the world?"—he looks at Josh's blank face for a moment before running a frustrated hand through his hair—"Of course not, of course not. You're so confined in that world of yours; sometimes I'm jealous at how being so fucking ignorant pulls you out of all sorts of fucked-up situations," he tugs his blood-stained scarf off his neck and throws it at Josh's feet before he pushes himself off the ground and storms away.

"Dude, what's the matter? We punch each other all the time!"

"_What's the matter?_" William spins around in disbelief, exasperated. "If you still don't know what's wrong, you're a fucking idiot!"

"Well, I don't know! That's why I'm asking!"

"Yes, you don't know anything, do you? All you know is that prissy little princess of yours and how to make her happy. You don't fucking care about whatever the fuck's left in this universe! Guess what? I made it to the football team. Three weeks ago, _dude_. Three weeks! The whole fucking school knows and maybe even the whole town knows and my best friend is the only one who doesn't know!"

"Wh-what?" he stammers, a confused expression clouding his eyes. "You should've told me," his voice drops to a whisper, "I would have been happy for you."

"You don't know anything at all," William says quietly, in a tired voice. He is so, so exhausted, "You don't care about anyone else, you don't care nuts about the rest of the world. I quit, okay? I want out. This game of 'who goes insane first' between the two of us has got to stop. You're winning. You're always going to win and you don't need me, anyway. That is clear. Maybe it's time I've begun not needing you either."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just forget it," he turns around to leave, but Matt lunges forward to hold him back.

"Explain it to me!"

"Just fucking forget it!" William struggles against his grasp.

"Tell me so that I can understand!"

"You wouldn't understand!"

"Don't decide what I can understand and what I can't for me!" Matt jerks a thrashing William back towards himself, "Tell me!"

"I'm in love with you!" William screams at him, his chest heaving. Matt stares back at him in shock, hands going slack from their hold on William's shoulders. "I'm in love with you, you _jerk_."

"B-but… how?"

William blinks wetly, unable to look his best friend in the eye, "The whole world has known about my feelings for you for years. Am I really that good of an actor? I mean, even Ms Han knows and she's half-blind!" The tears are threatening to fall; whether it's the pain in his face, the jumble in his head, the tight knot in his stomach, or the sheer intensity of confessing his feelings for the first time, William can't tell. Maybe it's everything at once.

He can feel perspiration sliding down the side of his cheek and mixing with the blood. It drips down his chin and stains his shirt red. In the wind, it's as though his face is frozen stiff, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about his throbbing jaw or his swollen cheek. He doesn't care about anything else except spitting the truth out. It feels like pain-relief taken just to withstand another dagger dragging through his soul.

Matt is unnervingly quiet, quiet until he finally manages three words, "The geography teacher?"

"Yes, Matt—" William blinks away tears, "—_of course_. Of course that would be the only detail you deem important." He wipes the blood and tears off his face with the corner of his shirt. "It's okay. I was just leaving, anyway. See you… soon."

"Wait!" Matt calls hesitantly, his voice shaking, "Just… how long has this been?"

William laughs. He was punched by his crush tonight, but he didn't expect words to be a bigger blow than the punch. The situation is so cruelly hilarious that he knows if he stops laughing he will break down. Trust Matt to know all the right places to hit.

"Six years," he says through a strangled laugh. "I've been in love with you for six years."

Then without another word, he leaves. William Jones walks slowly, even though he knows that Matthew Fairweather would never come after him. A few minutes later, a little turn of the path ahead, he cries his heart out in the comfort of darkness.


End file.
